Hard to Get
by mysterywings
Summary: During World War Two, serious, limited Vietnam meets the boisterous America. Amid fighting, friendship, and stress, America tries to get Vietnam to like him, but she won't let that happen. Or will she?
1. Encounter

I do not own Hetalia Axis Powers.

**July 1940**

_Being lost sucks. Especially without my handy map, _thought America, lifting a dripping pant leg from knee-deep water. The boisterous nation was in Indochina, wading through a flooded field of rice that he couldn't even eat. Turns out trying a shortcut was not the best idea.

The water made it too hard to move, so America lurched to a halt, shaded his eyes, and looked around. Lush terraces were stacked above and below him in a vibrant green. Hundreds of rice stalks swayed below a puffy-cloud sky. He didn't gain a sense of where the hell he was, but it struck America that he was in one of the most beautiful places he had ever seen.

While gazing at the landscape, he soon heard a gentle swish of water behind him and turned. Something close to cardiac arrest seized him at the sight of a teenage girl.

"Hiya," was the only thing America could think to say, smiling a little stupidly.

The girl lifted the brim of her conical hat and showed little emotion while glancing him over, except for a touch of wariness in her dark-honey eyes. "I saw you from up there," she said at last in slightly accented English, pointing up to the rice terraces above them. A hesitation. "Do you need help? I can take you to my house; it's not far."

This girl was not helping the fact that the blazing sun reddened the America's face, yet he didn't mind one bit. "That'd be great!" the young country said. "I'm just a little lost. I wouldn't mind a bite to eat."

"I'm sure I can get something," the Asian girl nodded. "Follow me, please."

As she turned and began the walk to her house, it quickly became obvious that this mysterious girl was no conversationalist. America did not mind, however, and the forbidding silence motivated him all the more to break it.

"I'm Alfred, by the way," he declared, believing the girl human and therefore using his alternate title. "Alfred F. Jones. What's your name?"

"Kim. Kim will be fine," she replied almost distantly.

"Kim," Alfred echoed, testing it out. "Well, Kim, it's a real gorgeous place here."

"Yes, I agree."

"I think I squashed a few rice plants. Hope you don't mind!"

She briefly cast her eyes over the crops he stepped on. "Don't worry about it. They're only slightly flattened."

"You sure about that?"

"Of course," Kim replied and, for the first time, Alfred saw her smile slightly. "They're more resilient than they look."

* * *

Once at her home, Kim got Alfred a dry pair of pants and a delicious bowl of noodles. Meanwhile, he managed to get her chatting about the country. Her voice became steady and fond when she talked about Vietnam and her humble yet filling life as a farmer. Her obvious patriotic love made Alfred homesick, so he told her about himself, telling her that he was visiting from the States to meet with a friend and leaving out the fact that he was a country himself.

At this point, America deemed Kim as just a human. A human he liked a lot. Kim, who worked constantly on the fields, enjoyed the break and his company, too. Which is why they became quiet upon noticing the darkening sky.

"Think I better get going while there's light. Thanks for telling me where my hotel is," Alfred said.

"No problem."

_Say it, Al. You gotta say it. _"I – um – had a good time, but…these next days will be busy, and I'll be back in the States soon," he added regretfully. "I probably can't visit again."

"That's all right," Kim said quickly, to Jones's surprise. "Everyone's busy in this day and age, it seems."

"Haha! Yup!" False cheer. Rising from his chair, Alfred walked to the front door. Country and human relationships never worked out. Thus the claim that he couldn't come back. As much as Alfred liked her, he really didn't want to hurt Kim.

And so he opened the door to a warm night and millions of stars in the sky. _It's so unfair. _

"G'night Kim."

"You too, Alfred."

* * *

In his hotel room, America couldn't stop thinking about the flawless day. Or that modest smile, or that jet-black hair. He couldn't stop thinking about Kim's strong patriotic love. A love like that he had only seen in another…

It hit him like a home run. "She's another country!" A fist was thrown up from his covers. "Kim, I'm gonna see you tomorrow!"

**The next morning**

Vietnam (or as we've called her, Kim), did not expect to open the door and see the American on her doorstep.

"Kim!" he greeted, grinning widely.

"Al-Alfred?" Heat invaded her cheeks, remembering the previous night's gloom she had when he left, thinking that they'd never see each other again. "What are you doing here?"

"I gotta ask you something," Alfred announced. He paused dramatically. "You're not just a typical civilian, aren't you?"

Kim flinched in surprise and stared at him. "You're the same as me?" she exclaimed incredulously.

"Haaaaaa, I was right!" He ran in and bear-hugged her. "Vietnam – you are Vietnam, right?"—she nodded—"I'm the United States of America!"

"You? The United States?" Vietnam managed to squeak under his tight grip.

He laughed and released her. "America is fine. Pretty close to Alfred, right?"

"I…" She absorbed the news. "I can't believe I thought you were human!"

America chortled. "You pulled off a nice façade, but I shoulda guessed earlier."

"How did you know?"

"Well, your patriotism was the big hint. This house, too – it's nicer than some of the others. Plus," he added with a wink, "It just wouldn't be fair if you were human."

_He didn't mean it _that_ way, _Vietnam denied, looking away. _Surely not. _"Well…it's amazing to meet such an acclaimed nation."

"Aw, shucks! You realize I'm a country and everything gets so serious, all of a sudden!" the global power laughed.

Vietnam looked him in the eyes, which were as blue as the sky outside. "Well, it's a serious time for us nations, isn't it?"

America sobered as well. "…Yeah. Things are getting really crazy." He rubbed the back of his neck, hesitating. "So we've been trading partners for a while…you're owned by France, right?"

She tensed slightly. "Yes. That's right."

"Have you seen him around recently? I've heard he likes to be called Vichy now."

The young woman stared down at her wrist and sighed. "I am afraid I have…"

**A month earlier**

Twin baskets of produce swung gently on the ends of Vietnam's sturdy bamboo pole. Walking down a dirt path, she held the pole at her shoulder, gaze starting to wander up to the summer sky…

"_Bonjour, ma gemme." _

The Asian girl jolted, causing the baskets to rock dangerously. "France!" she breathed, once regaining balance. Vietnam faced the taller country and bowed as best as she could with the load. "I welcome you back." Normally, the statement was intoned as a lie. But for once, she was truly concerned for him. "I heard of your loss in Europe," Vietnam confessed once she straightened. "How are you faring? Would you like a rest at my…"

Then she noticed his eyes.

"…house?"

They were much darker than Vietnam remembered – nearly purple. Fear drove through her like a stake.

"How rude of me, madam. I don't believe I've properly introduced myself." He took his colony's hand and planted a kiss on it. Typical France…yet something felt so sinister. "I am _État Français: _Vichy France. I am here to let you know of a few changes going on around here, and then I shall be off.

"I rule you now – and I support the Axis Powers." Vietnam's eyes widened. France and the _Axis_? "You may have to work much harder, _gemme, _for Japan desires your resources as well. That is all I must say."

He started to walk away when words foolishly poured out of Vietnam's mouth.

"Another leech? Is that what you're saying?" she protested. "Even with this 'Vichy' nonsense, you're still France to me. You already bleed me dry! _Casse-toi,_" she spat.

Vichy's gloved hand lashed out and tightly grabbed her wrist. Fruit tumbled out of the baskets. He smirked.

"_Écoutez-moi, _you little bitch: I may have different values and ideals than before, but you still must obey your Papa."

Vietnam swallowed thickly and seared him with a hateful gaze. Even this man who claimed they just met – _Vichy – _had complete power over her. Just like everyone else. He released her and once again strolled off, satisfied.

* * *

Vietnam didn't tell him all the details, of course. But the American still looked shocked.

She loosened the hands that she had fisted while telling him the ordeal and discovered that her nails had dug indents into her palms. Staring at the crescent-shaped marks, the girl sighed, "Since the depression, France has been working me harder than ever. If Japan is added to the equation, or invades me…I'm just not sure what to do."

America's demeanor – big-eyed and sympathetic – swiftly changed as his jaw tightened and his gaze became steel. "France has ruled you for far too long," he declared, pounding the table and vibrating everything on it. "As a country of freedom, I will help you, Vietnam! When this war is over and done with, Indochina is gonna be independent!"

"_What?_"

"Once you're free– oh boy, it'll be great. Only you make the decisions, and you can make your government however you like. Trust me, I've been ruled once, too. Freedom's beautiful. I know you'll just love it. Don't worry, Vietnam," the blond-haired country insisted, flashing a grin. "_I'll _do the hero work."

"Just what are you planning to do, exactly?" Vietnam asked, numbly shocked that this incredibly powerful nation was focusing in on someone as "insignificant" as her. "You're not even in the war."

"Oh, _that. _That won't matter. I'll do what I do best: talk to people! I meeting with Vichy soon, but I don't think I can bring this up to him today, though. Not something especially friendly to suggest, right?" he chuckled.

Vietnam didn't realize she was smiling at him until her face fell at those words. "That's who you're meeting with? 'Your friend' Vichy?"

"Well, we're not _buddies, _but…I gotta stay friendly, you know?"

"No. No you don't." Vietnam shook her head, black locks swinging furiously back and forth. "You're a country of freedom, and you support the _Allies. _How could you ever like that Axis-loving tyrant?"

"Hey…hey, it's not like that! Being friends mean that he'll be more open to what I want. Otherwise, Germany or Japan can end up owning you! And I definitely don't want another person on my bad side."

The colony stood up abruptly.

"Kim? You understand, don't you?"

"Please call me Vietnam. And I must get to work," she replied instead. "I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay here." Grabbing her straw hat and bamboo paddle, Vietnam promptly left the house. It wasn't long, back in the rice fields, when she heard his splashing footsteps.

"Wait…Vietnam…why'd you leave? What's the matter? You can't be upset about me and France! I _have _to play friendly. There _is _a war going on out there, you kn—"

At those words, a nerve snapped, and Vietnam's paddle seemed to act on its own accord. With a great _WHACK, _she struck him down, hard. "Don't you dare act as if I don't know about the war," snarled the angry girl, gripping her paddle with white knuckles and circling his fallen form like a tiger. "I'm being bled _dry _because of the war. I could be _invaded_ because of the war!"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry! Just calm down! I can ask France to free you. I really want to help!"

"So _what? _So we can trade more? All you powerful nations just think for themselves. I was a fool to think you'd be any different."

America turned to stare her in the eye, pouting childishly. "That's not true," he stubbornly stated. Vietnam swiftly raised her paddle, he flinched – but she only pushed the small of his back to lift him to his feet.

He looked at her with a mix of shock and…admiration? _Whatever, _Vietnam dismissed. Placing the paddle's edge under his chin, she smoothly ordered, "Get out. Go. Hurry to that stupid meeting with Vichy. You're a fool if you think you can ask that lecher to free me." The weapon lowered. "Go."

America had the guts to linger a moment longer. "Vietnam…"

"Didn't you hear me? Get out of my sight!"

Running his fingers through his hair, America sighed, though not sadly. "Kay. I'm leaving."

"Good."

"Just for you," he added slyly, turning on his heel as Vietnam whipped out her paddle again. Alfred laughed and called back, "I'll still be your hero!" And he ran off.

Vietnam rolled her eyes and blew her black bangs out of her face. "_World powers." _

* * *

**Historical Notes:**

**In this year, America was doing the best he could to steer clear of the conflict waging across the globe, despite his support for the Allies. Vietnam, meanwhile, was an agricultural colony, her fate uncertain in the growing war. (She had a rather unfortunate youth, too...she was ruled by China, rebelled, then got taken over by France rather in the 1850s rather sneakily). **

**At this time in history, America and Vietnam only interacted through trade, thanks to her plentiful resources. President Roosevelt wanted Vietnamese independence, but had to appease to Vichy. Who is Vichy, you may ask? In late June 1940, when France epic-failed against Germany, and a new government called Vichy France rose after Gaullic France fell. It's portrayed here, admittedly confusingly, with the concept of multiple personality disorder; at this point, France's dominant personality is Vichy. As mentioned, America recognized and set diplomatic relations with Vichy, though he really didn't like either France in the first place. **

**Other notes**

Totally not historical, but: in my opinion, Vietnam has the best conical hats, and this is coming from a Chinese person. They're very symmetrical and awesome-looking.

_"You're the same as me?"..._In Hetalia's manga/webcomic, the countries never flat-out ask "you're a country?" Rather, "you're the same as me?" (or something along those lines) seems to be a strong enough implication of what they really mean.

Somewhere I saw Vietnam referred to as the "jewel" of the French Empire, and _gemme _means 'gem,' and also sounds very sexy. Other uses of French in this chapter: _Casse-toi _(Fuck off) and _Écoutez-moi _(Listen)_. _Please note that I rely on Google for my translations; don't hesitate to correct me.

It was tricky to characterize Vietnam, as Hetalia portrays her as quite the tsundere when (according to my Google search) the Vietnamese are actually quite hospitable, which I showed when she invited Alfred to her house. Perhaps the way she attacked America was whiplash and a little historically-off, as Vietnamese opinion of Americans was very positive at that time. Take it as some war-time angst, I guess. Well, I think I covered all the historical things. Dang this is long. And I want this after every chapter? Can never take the easy way, I guess. If your eyes aren't glazing over, please read author's note. ;D

**A/N:**

Oh gosh, a serial fic…how daunting.

I actually wanted to do a one-shot of the Star Pair based off of a fanart, but then I found an article on Wikipedia about Vietnam during World War Two, and it was the best written Wiki page I've ever seen. And so I'm pushing my initial idea to the very last chapter of this fic, and describing America and Vietnam's relationship during World War Two before it. No, it is not nearly as dramatic or heartrending or personal or involved as the Vietnam War, but I find it interesting and sentimental. And ironic. You'll see. Yes, there will be a lot more history, fluff, and blood. What can I say? I crossed over to the Dark!Hetalia side long ago. Give this side a try. We have cookies.

**~mysterywings**


	2. Occupation

**Hello, everyone! I can't express how happy I am at the nice feedback received last chapter. Thank you! Reviews are really motivating. Fo rizzles! Thank you thank you thank you!**

**I feel slightly sorry for the people that really liked the "cuteness" of the last chapter, as this chapter is rather dark and lacking in AmeViet. However, I wouldn't write it if it wasn't important, and I'm still new at writing dark things. **_**What about your Iggy fic? y**_**ou may ask. No. Don't read that. That needs serious editing. I'm serious. Look at **_**anything **_**except that fic. **

**Problem with dark writing is I don't know what's too little or too much? Tell me how you think I did here! ^_^**

**I don't own APH. Sad face.**

* * *

**September 1940**

The rural countryside was calmed by a tepid, breathless night. Through the darkness, yellow light glowed from Vietnam's upstairs window – inside, Vietnam, clad in dark-green nightclothes, sat at a desk recording the bushels of rice harvested that day. Her fresh, just-washed hair glistened like the ink on her paper. All she could hear were cicadas chirping and her own deep breathing.

The sound of splintering wood shot through the air.

The legs of her chair screeched against the floor as Vietnam pushed back her seat and shot up. "Who's there?" she called. She strained her ears for a sound, but only heard blood pounding in her ears. Vietnam nimbly hurried down the stairs and slowed as she entered the foyer. Among the wreckage of what was once her front door stood a solemn Asian country, his uniform as black as the night outside.

"Japan?" Vietnam squinted. "What are you doing—"

A scream choked out as fingers encased in black rubber grabbed the girl's slender throat. Japan's opposite hand promptly clapped over her mouth.

"Stay still."

Vietnam tried to elbow him away, but he held fast.

"_Stay still, _Vietnam!"

Furious, she tore off the hand covering her mouth and gasped for breath. "Let me go!" she demanded, rasping. "What the hell are you doing?"

There was a brief moment of struggle, and soon Vietnam was once again locked under the island nation's hold.

"I'm bringing the family together again," explained Japan evenly. "Creating the perfect Asian sphere. And ridding our land of the pesky Europeans. Stop resisting, Viet-chan. Isn't this what you want? Support me, and that pervert France will never bother you again."

_To be rid of France…_ Vietnam wistfully thought, shakily struggling for air. _But…_

"You've gone insane," she blurted out. "I…I can't trust you!"

With a metallic _shiiing, _Japan removed the sheath from his gleaming katana.

"Very well. You could have made things easier for yourself…"

* * *

Vichy France bounded up the porch steps to Vietnam's house, breathing in short puffs. Upon peering through the gaping door frame, he lifted a hand to his disheveled hair and swore.

"_Merde!" _he shouted at Japan, who was crouching and had his back to him. "Do you have no respect for the agreements we've just made?"

"Quiet…" requested the Japanese man, intent on the task at his fingertips.

"Don't go ignoring me. I demand you to stop this!"

There was a tense silence—broken by a female, muffled scream.

"Please!" Vichy added.

Japan finished securing a gag over Vietnam's mouth and stepped back, revealing the girl sitting against a wall and tightly bound in rope. "Yes? What would you like, Vichy-san?"

Vichy took in his colony's disheveled state. Mussed hair. Torn clothing. A glistening slash on her cheek. Rivulets of blood streamed freely onto her chin from her split bottom lip that, even in the dim light, gleamed crimson. The girl wearily regarded him.

"I am here to negotiate," Vichy muttered, rubbing bruises of his own. "What can be done to cease the fire?"

"Simple. I claim Vietnam for my own."

Vietnam relaxed against her ropes, despite herself. The French rule was ending. Finished. Her "release" from this, of course, was different than what she had been hoping for, but the colony had been dreaming about this moment nevertheless.

"_C'est terrible!_" cried out Vichy. "I do not get to keep _anything_? Completely unfair!"

Japan carefully scrutinized the two, as if deciding something. "You are in luck, Frenchman," he stated. "I have no interest in administrating a territory if I don't have to. As long as I can station troops as I please and attain her resources, then I will confirm your sovereignty over Vietnam-chan."

"I'll still rule her, in a way. Is that what you mean?"

"Correct."

Soundlessly, an arm stretched out, its pale-white palm open.

"_Oui. _Very well, then."

Vietnam screamed against her gag as her two new tyrants shook hands.

* * *

"Ah, you look a mess," Vichy whispered, kneeling beside his charge. Vietnam angled her face so her bangs covered her eyes – refusing to look at Vichy even as she felt fingers start picking at the knots in the rope. No way would she give a hint of the emotions burning behind her deadpan. Vietnam could not believe her situation but, mostly, she could not believe herself.

She had been taken over in a handful of days. She proved powerless to thwart this double occupation. Her people were surely going to suffer. _Why couldn't I stop any of this? Am I really that weak? What the hell is wrong with me?_ Vietnam thought. Vietnam did not feel like the adolescent that had once drove out China. Now she felt like a weak, pathetic female who couldn't defend herself – and she vehemently _hated_ the feeling.

The thump of Japan's boots receded, and Vichy began talking to Vietnam rapidly. "What a catastrophe! I am sorry _gemme;_ I would have saved you under different circumstances."

_Bull, _Vietnam mentally retorted.

"That Japan is a maniac, I tell you. Why, we signed an agreement that promised he would not invade you – then only hours later, he does it, and I get the shorter end of the deal!" He yanked at the rope rather viciously, then drew a conscious breath to calm his nerves. "Either way, we will get through this somehow."

Apprehension churned in Vietnam's stomach. If Japan was _that_ ruthless, _that_ unpredictable, her life would surely become a living hell. And Vichy – he was no less troubling. Was this sudden kindness genuine? Or was there something sneakier behind it?

_As usual. _Vietnam's head fell forward in exhaustion. _The world must be going insane, _she concluded, before falling asleep. _And soon I'll be dragged along with it._

* * *

He called it a bracelet. A shiny little gift for all his new colonies to wear. _What a piece of jewelry, _thought Vietnam with a scowl. It was large heavy band of metal that constricted her entire left wrist. With a lock in the back.

"It's not too awful, Vietnam-chan," insisted Japan, inspecting the newly-affixed manacle. The two were sitting on her porch, the roof shading them from the white-hot sun. "You'll get used to it."

Doubtful. She felt like screaming.

"Adjusting to this must be hard, but I assure you that my Empire is for the best."

The girl sniffed at him. "So you're in this charade too? Vichy has been talking the same way, so sweet and supporting. As if I'm supposed to _choose_ one of you bastards."

Vietnam was not stupid. She knew such cheek could result in a hard slap in the face, or worse. But this time, except for a twitch in his jaw, Japan hardly reacted. If he wanted to gain Vietnam's preference, why would he? At this test Vietnam realized, sickeningly, that she was right.

Japan took a measured breath. "This collaboration with Vichy and I is…_uneasy_ at best. It won't be the both of us for long, Vietnam-chan."

"Don't call me that," she mumbled darkly.

"I expect to win this war," the island nation continued. "When that happens…I certainly do not intend to keep Vichy around."

Vietnam was silent.

Japan stood, adjusting his uniform. "Asia is for Asians, Viet-chan. Remember that and think."

He walked away. Vietnam waited until he was out of sight.

Then she buried her face in her hands and sat stone still for the longest time.

What would she do? She just didn't know.

**A few weeks later, early morning**

She thought about Alfred, occasionally. Only occasionally. Mostly, his talk of freedom would echo around her head for a while, or she would regret hitting him so rashly. Sometimes, Vietnam would even wish he would visit out-of-the-blue, as he did the day after they met…

"Vietnam. Wait!"

Don't get too excited. The words had an annoyingly familiar French twang.

Vietnam, who was on her way to the fields, paused and turned. "Yes, Vichy?"

"Catch!"

The gun weighed so much more than Vietnam expected; she staggered back as she intercepted the device with both arms.

"What the—? Why on earth are you giving this to me?" the thin Asian girl barked, eyeing the smirking Vichy with suspicion.

"Well. _Someone _must show you how to shoot a Jap."

"You've drank too much wine, Frenchman!" Vietnam icily shot back. "I never said I was siding with you.

"Oh come on, _ma gemme_, for heaven's sake, look at your own history. You've been wrestling with your Asian neighbors since infancy! Have they ever been good to you? You and I are not on the best terms, I admit, but even _you_ can't say that you prefer that madman Japan over _moi_."

Vietnam glanced down at the gun, shiny and black. Japan had not shown up for several weeks. He was fighting China, of course – with _her_ resources. At this thought, Vietnam swallowed and looked back up at Vichy, her fingers curling tighter around the weapon.

"You might want to hold that gun the correct way, _gemme_."

"...Then teach me how."

Vichy grinned. "Ah. Smart girl."

* * *

On the outskirts of the fields, next to an old shack that used to store rice, Vichy made adjustments to Vietnam's grip, and then stepped back to scrutinize. "Good," he nodded.

"Now what?" asked Vietnam, feeling wary of the weapon in her small hands.

"Now…try to hit that window," Vichy pointed, finger leading to a grimy rectangle of glass on the eastern wall of the shack.

After readying herself, Vietnam squinted in concentration and pulled the trigger. A dark cicle appeared in the wooden wall over a foot away from the window.

"_Sacrebleu! _Aim!"

Bullet after bullet ripped through the wood until, at last, there was a shatter. Vietnam stared, lips parted, at the hole in the window haloed by a cobweb of cracks. Suddenly, the gun she held felt like something real.

"Well don't just gape, keep shooting," Vichy complained.

Obeying and continuing to fire, Vietnam became acutely aware of a sensation emerging within her. It was thrilling and fiery and bold and dangerous all at the same time. Yet it wasn't new. In fact, it was the same sentiment she had when rebelling against China all those centuries ago.

A similar feeling had flared up, too, when she had struck that handsome idiot America with her bamboo paddle. Vietnam had regretted and wondered at her rash aggression afterwards, of course – but she realized now that the mood of the country was simply turning. Vichy and Japan had only given her two options: one owner or the other, but a new path blasted open right before her eyes – and that was revolt. Gone were the welcoming arms and customs. It was high time for Vietnam to get her freedom.

"_Once you're independent – oh boy, it'll be great." _

Vietnam's honey-brown eyes briefly cut towards Vichy, and she almost felt sorry for the man. He had no idea that, while training her, he was training a rebel.

* * *

**Historical Notes**

(Abandoning the bracketed annotations for now): This whole chapter seems like something off of a drama show, but it really did happen! It's true; On September 22nd, Japan and Vichy signed an accord that granted Japan a little more freedom to set military stationing in Vietnam...BUT specifically forbade any Axis Power to actually invade the area. Japan had a rather "fuck that shit" mindset and legitimately mobilized troops towards Indochina only **hours** after he signed the accord. I know, right? Kiku, that's not how you make friends! xD Of course, the attack being completely unexpected, the Japanese won decisively, gaining access to Vietnam's rich resources and, as mentioned, leaving the administrating work to Vichy. Japan did encourage Vietnam to support the invasion, and a couple communist nationalists _did _take advantage of the situation, but it all proved fruitless in the end. Poor Viet!

As portrayed, Vichy and Japan competed for Vietnam's preference – it'd be helpful for kicking each other out. Vichy, however, had a much better control on propaganda and stuff and organized the Vietnamese Youth Movement, which got a million plus members that were taught to fight and use guns. Through this, Vietnam gained a distinct sense of herself, and Nationalist feelings in the Vietnamese quickly rose. She kind of _did _support Vichy more so than she did Japan – but almost a century of shit ruling was just too long to forgive.

A/N:

I managed to squeeze a little AmeViet in there, didn't I? xD Yeah, but the developments in this chapter were too crucial to skip. If you have time, tell me what you thought. Unfortunately, I won't be able to update for a long while, as I am going out of town and may not have internet access for three weeks…luckily, this is because I'm going to writing camp, so hopefully the next time I update, my prose will be better!

**~mysterywings**


	3. Talk

Hello good people. Apologies for the wait.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. :|

**A while back...**

"So, Jones," Franklin said to the nation standing in front of his desk, while his black pen danced speedily over white papers. "How did your visit with Vichy in Indochina go?"

America chuckled lightly, his arm reaching up to smooth blonde hair back from his forehead. He reddened slightly and answered, "Well, boss...I met this girl…"

Franklin Delano Roosevelt looked up from his paperwork with raised eyebrows and blinked at his nation's shameless, smitten grin. _Such a young face_, he thought. Roosevelt forgot, sometimes, that even though his nation was over a century old, Alfred still possessed the ardent emotions of the teenager he really was.

The president grinned back and winked a blue-gray eye.

"Well tell me all about her, Jones, right after you tell me what that son-of-a-bitch Vichy had to say. Then maybe I can help you out…"

* * *

The wheels of a gleaming oak wheelchair whispered against the hardwood floor of the White House. The seated President Roosevelt stretched out a hand and, with some effort, pushed open the door to his Oval Office.

"Jones."

Alfred was inside, standing by the largest window.

"Jones, I better tell you something."

The country turned. "Yes, boss?"

Franklin took a breath and released the news in his exhale. "Vietnam's been invaded by Japan."

America's face went blank; then his blue eyes widened in shock. "Aw, _shit!_" he exclaimed. "Didn't we tell him to keep his hands off her?"

"A letter was sent saying that, Jones, but Japan seems to disregard anything thrown at him!" The president shook his head.

"Well _give_ 'im something to regard! I don't care if that guy's supposed to be our ally; he has to get the hell away from Vietnam!"

"Jones," said Franklin with a wary tone. "I know what a nice day you had with that girl, but her occupation brings other troubles. She supplied half of our rubber, after all, and now…well, now we're not getting any of that."

America nodded to show understanding, but something inside of him – something small, something insistent – knew that he didn't care about the rubber supply as much as he should have. An idea struck him, though, which quickly covered this fact:

"What if we stopped selling Japan oil?"

President put hand on his chin. "…If we can get others to do the same, I don't think Japan could handle such a shortage!" Roosevelt rolled over to America to pat his charge on the shoulder, but (in his seated position) could only give his hand a firm shake. Roosevelt said fiercely, "Good idea, Jones! We can make sure that Japan won't get a _drop _of fuel from us!"

"Haha! Thanks…"

America turned back to the window, the glass reflecting his furrowed brows. The nation stared at the capital city outside for a moment, then his gaze fell back to his concerned president, and his jaw reset with determination. "I'd really like to help her out, Franklin. I said I would."

Roosevelt heaved a sigh. "I'm trying hard, Jones. But I also have to keep you out of conflict."

A hesitation. "Er, tell me, Al. Do you…want to join the war?"

America thought about sitting in ditches. He had crouched in there for days, but it always felt like millennia. Then the roar of a machine gun would pierce the anxious silence, and he would feel as useless as the mud around his ankles as a fresh, red color bloomed on the clothing of a neighboring soldier.

America remembered when a canister of poison gas would fly through the air, and men cried out and clamped their hands over their eyes after the can's resulting clatter upon the ground.

America saw perfectly Vietnam's eyes – the prettiest honey-brown orbs he had ever seen – when she told him of Vichy's abuse.

"I'm not sure, Frank."

"…That's all right, son."

**1941**

Vietnam's cheek still stung as she hurriedly approached the steps of a house with an upward-curved roof. Over her black hair was a pale yellow blanket, the ends of which she held to her chest. She released one of the blanket ends to knock imploringly on the front door.

China appeared in the doorway with a disheveled pony tail and several fresh cuts on his face and neck. Upon seeing her, his nearly identical (but darker) brown eyes narrowed in annoyance, emphasizing the bags beneath them. Vietnam didn't show how surprised she was at his condition.

"Ai ya," China exhaled, clearly weary. "What do you want?"

"I need your help, China," Vietnam said, solemnly as ever. Her former teacher's knuckles turned white as his fingers dug into the edge of the wood door. Vietnam added hurriedly, "I know you're very busy. Truly, I do."

"I would hope so," China said bluntly. "You give _him_ resources to beat me, don't you?" There was no question about which "him" China was talking about.

Vietnam twitched in annoyance. "_Give?_" she bristled. "Japan's stealing everything I have! He _invaded _me." She threw off her head cover to reveal the scabbing gash on her cheek. "I want to get him off my back—"

Both countries stared at each for one, two blinks – reaching an understanding.

"As badly as you do," Vietnam finished.

Vietnam and China have never been comfy with each other – except, perhaps, a very long time ago, but certainly not at that time. Disagreements and Vietnam's rebellion left them bitter. Still, desperate situations can forge unlikely allies. This was one of those times.

"You want to annoy Japan for me," stated China. Then, with a slight smirk: "And you need me to organize you."

The smirk was not missed. "I would be perfectly capable of organizing myself if Vichy France wasn't breathing down my neck all the time," Vietnam retorted. Her co-owner had been smothering recently, making the organization of her rebellion difficult. It wasn't until today – when France's palm cracked so hard against her cheek that she saw stars – when Vietnam gathered up the gall to seek China.

Vietnam cleared her throat slightly, remembering what she was there for. "But yes. I would be grateful for your aid. You also have some of my people – anti-colonialists that moved here…"

The door swung wide open. "Come on in, Vietnam. It's been a while since you've called me"—the Chinese man's lips curved upwards into a content smile—"_teacher._"

**March 1941 **

England and America sat at a too-large oaken table. Beside America's elbow was a cup of dark-brown coffee; England, tea. The British man was speaking: "Assuming that you declare war on Germany, we'll have to assume you'll go to war with Italy and Japan as well. I think to destroy the Axis, we must have a strong air offensive…"

After rattling off strategies for several minutes, England cleared his throat, his hand passing over the black eye he earned from the Blitz as his fingers ran through more-mussed-than-usual hair. "Of course," he said, looking off the side, "this is all depending on whether you actually join the war."

Though his chin rested on his palm, America – for once – had been listening raptly. War was important. He was good at it. "Maybe," he loosely replied. Then, a bit randomly: "Say. What do you think about freeing colonies in Asia?"

England swiftly stood and punched America hard in the jaw. The younger nation's chair clattered on the floor as he fell backwards. The island country crossed his arms.

"Don't. Even. _Think_. About it."

America scrambled back to his feet. "What the hell was that for? Oh." Blue eyes narrowed behind glasses. "This is about India, isn't it?"

"If one thing must be maintained, it is the British Commonwealth, you wanker. That _includes _my territory in the Far East," the empire stressed, placing both hands on the tabletop and leaning in menacingly towards his younger.

"Oh, yeah? Just thinking about yourself? France has colonies there too. You know, Indochina. Those countries should be freed!"

"What makes you think that you can make prepositions for post-war, when you're just sitting on your bum while the rest of us are getting whipped?" snapped England, pointing to the mottled purple bruise around his right eye.

"Because France has been treating those colonies like crap for far too long!"

"Since when do you care about that part of the world?" This time there was a touch of fear in the Brit's voice. "You already have the Philippines, dammit! You're staying in the _western _hemisphere, you hear? _Western_!"

"I don't want to own anyone else there!" America shouted, throwing up his hands. "France just has to leave her _alone_."

"Who? The Philippines?"

"Gosh - and you call _me _an idiot. I meant Indochina! _Vietnam._"

When England stared in silence, America realized what he had let slip. _Oh shit…_

A smirk twitched at the edge of the elder's mouth. "So there's a lady involved. I see."

The island country seemed to find this amusing. America watched with a disturbed expression as England broke into a grin. "Stop smiling like that. It's creeping me out."

"Don't be a fool, America."

Love is complicated for nations. Relationships with humans literally die short; relationships with fellow countries are doomed to eventually fray. Sure, there were things like Austria and Hungary's marriage – _extremely _envied, by the way – but even that didn't last. There are simply too many things going on in the world for two countries to continue staring into the eyes of their lovers forever. They usually learn this the hard way and, as a result, most countries are careful with their emotional affairs, to save his or her heart from extra shatterings. Being a nation was already difficult enough. _Don't be a fool…_

America pretended the advice referred to something else. "What do you mean! The French colonies are owned by Vichy now. What's wrong with taking a couple colonies away when Vichy's our enemy?"

"I believe we are trying to _weaken _the enemy, not help him," England remarked, rolling his green eyes. "If the people of France know that if the Allies win, their colonies would be stripped away, they'll have more motives to support Vichy's side than ever! This idea, I'm afraid, is doing nothing to aid us."

America glanced around, as if there was anyone else in the room to back him up. "You're an ass," he finally said to his elder.

"Don't be angry because I'm right," England responded coolly. "Now"—England steepled his fingers very calmly, which would never make you guess he just socked a world superpower in the face—"let's move on with the war strategy, shall we?"

They continued on, though it was all strained. Because Alfred realized that being Vietnam's hero would be harder than he thought.

_I want to free her, _he thought, as the meeting came to a close and the two men stood from the table to leave. _I want to, and she deserves it—but is it worth the trouble? _

America was in deep thought about this while he walked back to his house through the streets of D.C. The cold, sharp, almost-spring air seemed to put things in perspective. There was a whole world out there, a world that he'd like to help. Vietnam was just one person; perhaps he couldn't afford risking too much for just a girl—

"America."

America jerked to a stop on the sidewalk, surprised to see England behind him. A wooly plaid scarf partly concealed his uncomfortable scowl, but his knit-together eyebrows revealed all of his unease.

"Yeah?"

"I'll…I'll see what I can do. About…_this girl_. Vietnam, you said, correct?"

"Yeah, her."

One of the bushy brows rose, but England gruffly replied, "No promises, but perhaps...I can help. If you provide some yourself."

"Really? Thanks, man!"

"I can't believe I actually said that…" America heard England mutter to himself as the peevish country sharply strolled off. America stuffed his hands in his pockets and went whistling down the street—once more a hopeful, aspiring hero in love.

**Fall 1941 **

Japan blew off steam from his tea, lips puckered slightly. "Tea, America-san?" he offered, and a Japanese servant placed a similar cup on America's side of the table.

"Thanks, Japan."

America didn't drink any, but he welcomed the hot porcelain that warmed his hands in the autumn chill.

The scene of the two sitting at a low Japanese table was picturesque—as most scenes in Japan are. Outside, branches adorned with ruby-red leaves swayed and rustled in the wind. The windows of Japan's house were left open, letting in crisp air that was just as cold as the two countries' current relations.

Their friendship, once so full of promise, trade, and amity, was crumbling, crumpling—like a shriveled leaf in the fall. Recent years were not friendly between the two nations, especially since the war started, when neither country has been doing the other any favors.

America clutched the teacup tighter and forced a grin. "So…lots of things to talk about, huh Japan?"

"Yes." Japan closed his eyes and took a sip of his tea, exhaling slightly. "I believe our bosses wanted us to have this meeting to reconcile, as friends. Though…"—Japan looked up from his cup with slightly narrowed eyes—"With your oil embargo and whatnot, I'm not sure if we can claim to be friends anymore."

"Aw, c'mon man, we can get past this!" insisted America. "You're different than Italy or Germany. You're my pal—I don't want to go against you."

"The two men you speak of with such scorn happen to be my two closest companions. They respect me, and we relate to each other," Japan said evenly. He looked down into his steaming cup, ill at ease. "Unlike you and I. Truthfully…I - I have always felt as if you look down on me."

Japan's words were wounded and – for a moment – America was listening to his shy friend again. It made him feel all the worse.

"Japan…it doesn't have to be like this. You don't need to take over other countries, alright? That doesn't give you respect. That doesn't make people admire you. It makes people fear you. And it will burn the whole world in hell.

"I know!" continued America confidently. "You just gotta withdraw from China, all right? I think that's what really made things tense between us. And…and leave Southern Asia alone, too, all right? You know, Vietnam and…everyone else down there." He could not control his blush.

"I refuse," Japan answered curtly, his face a hardened mask of indifference once more. "I am my own country, and I am strong enough _not_ to bend to the will of others. My decisions are mine alone."

America nearly crushed the porcelain cup between his palms. "Fine!" he shot back. "Be that way!"

The silence was thick enough to cut.

"So I guess...I guess things have changed between us."

"I suppose," nodded Japan.

The two regarded each other coldly for several more moments, until America shook his head, stood from the table, and exited the house, leaving a full cup of tepid tea.

* * *

A few minutes after the fair-haired nation left, Japan felt a hand touch his shoulder.

"So," inquired Japan's boss. "How did the meeting go?"

Japan whipped around, in one of his rare fits of anger. "That arrogant fool has been thwarting me again and again ever since this war begun! This 'alliance' is beyond repair. Please"—Japan shut his eyes briefly—"drop this pretense of friendship. I wish for it no longer."

"We'll have to pretend just a while longer, Japan-san."

The nation sighed. Such was the way of bosses.

"What did he say in particular?" his leader asked.

"He demanded that I withdrew from China – and Southern Asia, for some reason. Why would he care about _Southern Asia, _of all places? It hardly applies to him," remarked Japan, furrowing his brow in thought.

"Have faith, friend," assured Japan's boss. "We'll do something about him soon."

"Excuse me?"

"Well of course. Such impudence must be punished, after all."

* * *

**Historical Notes:**

Franklin Delano Roosevelt was the president of the United States during almost all of World War Two. He was quite popular (being re-elected several times), so I made him and America very close. (One of the reason FDR casually calls him "Jones." The other reason was because I thought it sounded really cool.) The disabled and wheelchair-ridden president was a strong supporter of freeing colonies in general, but he was also accused of being a bit of a warmonger, which I implied very subtlety in the fic.

The US, along with Holland and Australia, stopped selling Japan oil when he took over Indochina. After this it was estimated that Japan didn't even have enough oil to last for two more years (which is kind of funny) but it reinforced Japan's need to conquer more territory to replenish that oil...(...definitely not funny).

Meanwhile, China was helping Vietnam out with her rebelling!

With war a rising possibility, America met with England to discuss just what would happen if he would join. This entire part was based off the _US-British Staff Conference (ABC 1)_ that I found on Wikipedia, the best site evar. Psst...I made up the part with England saying that he _might _help America free Vietnam...but hey, no one said it DIDN'T happen! :D And the two _did _say they would support underground groups in resisting the Axis...which includes Vietnam's Rebellion Team! So ha.

Finally, America and Japan have a chat...but at this point they were like the two "friends" that secretly didn't like each other anymore...and their differences had created a huge chasm between them. The Japanese also felt the Americans were really condescending. Japan also plans to give America a what-for...I'm sure most of you can figure out what it is. I really don't think I have it in me to write about this "punishment" directly, so...yeah. It'll just be alluded to in future chappies.

**A/N:**

**Ello! Sorry for having two chapters where America and Vietnam don't even look at each other...but next chappie STAR PAIR ACTION will occur for sure. Cuz America joins the war!**

**If you have a moment, I'd like to thank everyone reading this now...**

**I've kind of ****been ****on a writer's block for two years...and turned to fanfiction to crank out my scarce plot bunnies. I was getting the feeling that I was losing my touch, but when I was writing this chapter (specifically the scene in Japan's house), it hit me like a bowling ball how much I actually love writing, and I just feel really _motivated. _So thanks. Each and every one of you that follows or reviews is just pushing me a little bit forward to my sweetest dream. :')**

**~mysterywings**


	4. Help

Do I own Hetalia? Haha nice joke.

**January 1942**

Vietnam's dragged a sleeve across her brow, a content breath escaping from her lips. Dark brown eyes scanned the neat rows of rice, and her chin nodded with proud approval. Another day's work accomplished. _Have to be home before sunset._

"_HEY VIETNAM!_" A loud voice pierced her eardrums. Her long-sleeved arms spread out as she lost balance, and for a second she was flying. Then the water splashed up around her. In her lukewarm, liquid surroundings, she felt a larger hand clasp firmly onto hers. With a hard yank, she was pulled out and deposited on the road that ran beside the fields, where she gasped for breath.

"Are you okay?"

"Oh yes, I'm fine." The girl blinked water out of her eyes, and then double-taked at the person still gripping her hand. "America!" she exclaimed. "W-what are you doing here? If you didn't sneak up on me like that, I wouldn't be soaking wet!" She scowled slightly.

The tall nation grinned and released her fingers. "Hey there," he said. "Nice to see you too."

It's surprising how many mixed emotions can clash behind a blank façade. Once brown eyes met blue, Vietnam had to admit she was pleasantly surprised. It was good to see him after so many months, after a rather abrupt parting. Yet there was a nasty shiver of envy at his fresh health and his lack of scars. Or, more accurately, lack of _apparent _scars. There was a rather young bruise on America's back, one that was still sore, but he wasn't going to talk about it—not to her.

"Sorry, that was rude," said the uncomfortable girl, finally able to manage words through her shock. She tilted her head and expertly strained the moisture out of her hair. "It _is_ good to see you," she confessed. "But, really, what brings you here?"

Eyebrows behind glasses rose in surprise. "Well you must've heard by now," America said. His smile faltered and shifted into something less cheery than it intended – an expression Vietnam never saw on his face before. Nevertheless, he proclaimed with his usual exuberance, "The US of A has joined the war! It was official, say, a couple months ago."

She had no idea. Another surprise in such little time. _How did I not know this?_ _Oh yes,_ she remembered bitterly, _I'm a colony, and my owners enjoy keeping me in the dark. _She was about to voice this, when America cocked his head to the side and grinned widely. "They'll be coming aaany moment now."

And soon she, too, heard a hum that likened to a swarm of wasps, which steadily increased into a full-on roar. Small planes from the horizon grew larger and larger until they passed over the two countries' upturned faces. The noses of the planes were richly decorated as the mouths of sharks. Duller-colored bombers trailed behind. America laughed and waved as the planes zipped by faster than they came.

"Pretty cool, huh?" he said, turning towards Vietnam.

She was wild-eyed. "Those are _your_ planes? What are they doing?"

"They're flying to Hanoi, I think. To blow things up."

Vietnam's pupils visibly contracted. "What! What does this mean? Are we enemies now that I'm controlled by Japan?"

"Oh no, it's not like that at all!" America rushed to explain. "We're aiming straight for the buildings he built here, Viet. Nothin' else. Since you're technically part of his 'house' now, he'll probably feel a lot more of the damage than you will."

Vietnam relaxed, and her eyes traced the lingering trails of smoke across the sky. Her bangs hung loosely around her face and streamed drops of water down her face that glinted in the last warm rays of the sun. Vietnam looked sideways at the man observing all of these details and smiled almost imperceptibly.

"Thank you for your help, America."

"Well, a hero's got to do what a hero's got to do!" the nation declared.

"Truly. I appreciate it. You're always welcome to stay at my house."

America smiled again and echoed the words he said the first time they met: "That'd be great."

* * *

Unfortunately, the sun was quickly descending…

Vietnam hurried to her house, quickly ushered America in, and started to close curtains.

"I assume you shouldn't be seen by France or Japan?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at the confused nation.

"Huh? Oh yeah, right. Those planes you saw were only volunteers of mine. I don't have official troops stationed here yet. So for now anything between us has to stay secret…"

She shot him a warning look, and Alfred realized what his words had accidentally implied, and he promptly shut himself up. _God, she's kinda attractive when she's angry…_

"Treat yourself to anything you might want to eat," Vietnam offered, as she threw on an evening jacket. "I need to go somewhere."

"Wait a second," America protested, stepping towards her. "I have to go wherever you're going!"

Solemnly, Vietnam said, "I'm sorry, but only I can go, America. It's personal business." She started to leave, only to pause at the door. "What do you mean 'I have to go wherever you're going'?"

"'Cause I want to! I'm here to _save_ you, Viet, not just twiddle my thumbs in your house!"

"D-don't risk anything for me, America. You fighting against Japan is the best thing I could be grateful for. I will be fine on my own."

"No!" America pouted.

The sky was darkening outside, and Vietnam was going to be late. Her temper spiked alarmingly. "What do you mean, _no_? I can take care of myself. Who do you think I am? A little girl desperate for help?"

"No, but you _are_ a girl under Vichy's_ and _Japan's rule" – he pointed to the band around her wrist – "and I think that's trouble!"

And suddenly Vietnam swore—because, as she peeked out of the glass pane in the door, she glimpsed trouble coming their way indeed.

"Of all the moments Vichy chooses to check on me!" she hissed, quickly stepping away from the entrance.

"Shit, you mean he's here!?"

"Shh! Yes! He's coming up the path." Vietnam scrutinized the nation who was not supposed to be seen in her house and thought quickly. "Fine," she grumbled, roughly grabbing America's hand, making him redden. "You're coming with me, then."

"Won't Vichy notice that you're gone? He won't be mad about that?" Alfred asked in a poor attempt at a whisper.

"If he doesn't believe the excuse I will make up, then he will probably punish me. He can be _such _a dear that way." Vietnam skimmed the room for necessities and grabbed her paddle that was leaning against the wall. "Now, let's get out of here quickly. No questions!"

She dashed out of her backdoor with America in tow, just as the demanding _knock knock knock _from Vichy's knuckles resonated from the front entrance.

* * *

The two ran for several minutes through villages, worn roads and even through a shallow rice paddie. America realized that Vietnam was taking a complex route to conceal him, which he was grateful for. The two, having run quite a long distance, even for a nation's standards, breathed heavily as they stopped at a scenic village at the foot of a steep mountain. Vietnam's fingers untangled themselves from America's moist palm and opened and closed as she scanned the oddly quiet village.

"Your hand is cooler than mine," the solemn girl pointed out, squinting through the dim twilight. "Is it true that a country's hand temperature depends on his climate?"

"Yeah, that's right!" America affirmed. The girl nodded in response. This was a pretty well-known fact among nations, but he couldn't imagine Vietnam having many hand-holding moments in her history – or wanting to, for that matter.

Her lips were a thin, serious line, and America opened his mouth to ask what they were there for in the first place.

Then she gestured America to follow and pushed through a congregation of trees. "_Chào_," America heard her say. He saw that she had reached the other side of the trees, and her hand was raised in greeting.

"I apologize for the tardiness. I brought a…guest," she introduced curtly, uncertain what to call the blue-eyed man bursting through the mass of tropical leaves.

A hundred black-haired heads turned to face the late arrivals.

* * *

Alfred waved at the curious gazes. "_Chow_, everyone! I'm Alfred F. Jones!"

"A Westerner?" a surprised voice whispered to Vietnam in Vietnamese.

"American," the girl confirmed.

There was a general hum of approval, which relieved Vietnam. A man with graying hair and beard stepped towards the two. "_Chào_, Kim, nice that you could make it. Though I am quite curious about this visitor…"

Vietnam leaned towards the shorter man's ear. "He is not an average man, Nguyen. He is the same as me. He has brought planes here today to fight Japan. He says he wants to help."

The man's deep-set eyes sparked in interest, and he regarded America in an entirely new light. "_Amazing_, my dear!" He bowed quickly to the towering American. "Welcome, Alfred!" he greeted in very correct English. "Pleased to have you here."

"Pleased to _be _here! But, uh…what's going on...Kim?" His sideways glance and sly grin signified that America enjoyed the excuse to call Vietnam by her human pseudonym. _Oh great, _she thought exasperatedly, and she quickly looked away before her cheeks could become too pink.

"Sorry for not telling you, but with Vichy literally at the door, there was little time to explain," Vietnam said. The girl straightened slightly with pride and exchanged a smile with the aging man. "This is a meeting of the _Việt Nam Ðộc Lập Ðồng Minh Hội. _It is the league for our independence. This is the group's leader, Nguyen Ai Quoc. Though more recently he likes to be called Ho Chi Minh."

America looked at the crowd of many people, then at Vietnam as if he was seeing her for the first time. "Your own freedom fighters? That's amazing, Kim!"

Nguyen chuckled. "Have a seat, young man; you'll see that this is a very structured group of 'freedom fighters'."

"There are several subgroups within the organization," Kim explained to Alfred quietly as they took a seat towards the front of the group. "In previous years, none of the rebels could get along – but now every class and group is cooperating, and Nguyen's leadership is fantastic! I'm telling you, this man is going to do good for my people."

_There she goes again, with that patriotic gleam in her eye… _Alfred thought, his face suddenly feeling hot in the cool night air.

Nguyen stood on a raised platform, and all the members of the resistance stilled in attention. "Whether you're a worker, peasant, landlord or native bourgeoisie," the leader declared, "we are all working together, as one – and _we will achieve our independence_."

* * *

The meeting ended hours before dawn. America stuck around and watched Vietnam personally bid farewell to each attendee and wish them a safe, undetected journey home. At last, it was only the two countries and Ho.

"Very good meeting," the leader praised to Vietnam. "We're making excellent progress." He rubbed his eyes, tired yet satisfied, and then turned to America. "So. The United States."

"That's me, all right!"

"An honor, such an honor. I spent several years in your home. Such a free, free place. What did you think of all this?"

"I think it's absolutely amazing," said America without hesitation. Then, looking straight at Vietnam: "I can tell you really want this independence."

The girl shyly ducked her head. "It is all I want," she confessed quietly.

"Well, then I'm helping you get it," America replied with conviction.

Nguyen beamed. "America, I am obliged! The Viet Minh would be forever grateful for your aid!"

Vietnam, however, forgot how to breathe. "W-would you really do that for me?" she finally stuttered. "Th-that's too kind; it's not even your fight—"

"Of course I would! I said I would be your hero, didn't I?"

"America" - her eyes sparked and her voice was low and earnest - "This means so much to me. Thank you."

"It's no problem! Of course, it's no quick process to aid you; there's a lot I'll need to discuss with my officials. Say"—the American grinned at her—"wanna talk about all this over dinner?"

* * *

**A/N:**

**I'm rather new at writing cliffhangers, and I must say that they're a joy to concoct. Haha, I'm terrible. :D**

**But really, I am. Look at the last time this was updated! ahhhhh! D:**

**Luckily, _I actually know what is going to happen in the next chapter_, so chap 5 should be published much sooner! ^_^**

**This needed a lot of editing (though not as much as the first chapter - pffft, can you believe I initially started writing this fic in the first person? orz) and I'm glad that (most of) it makes sense now! Onto the historical notes!**

This is the shortest chapter of the fic so far, as it is the bridge from ***america is staying out of the war*** to ***OMG AMERICA IS INVOLVED, SHIT JUST GOT REAL AND NOW AMEVIET STUFF IS GONNA HAPPEN AHHH!***  
Ahem. In early 1942, a American Volunteer Group (aka the Flying Tigers) led by General Chennault flew a bombing mission over Hanoi. 'Twas the first mission of the group in Vietnam. _Their planes were the shit._ Search up P-40 Warhawk and thou will be overwhelmed. The mission is actually interesting because the "duller-colored bombers" mentioned were actually old Russian planes, but they were flown by the Chinese. :D  
Vietnam's rebels (which everyone calls the Viet Minh because the official name is so long) was lead by "Ho Chi Minh"...yes...that one. The one that leads the Viet Cong about twenty years in the future of this time period. Yes, so **so **ironic. More details on the Viet Minh next chapter!

**See you soon (I promise)! If you somehow aren't swamped with schoolwork like me, please leave a review! :)**

**~mysterywings**

**(P.S. I got a livejournal and a tumblr lol. Links on my profile.)**


	5. Trust

"_Wanna talk about all this over dinner?"_

* * *

Vietnam stepped back from America, shocked. "WHAT?"

"Of course she would!" chirped Ho Chi Minh.

"WHAT?" repeated Vietnam, this time to her leader.

"I'm free tomorrow night."

"I…I…" Vietnam could only stand and stutter, mortified and flushing. "Do you mean to say that you're…you're asking me out on a date?" she tentatively asked.

"Well, that all depends if you say yes," America replied, vague. But when his blue eye winked at her, she knew he meant, _Yes, I am asking you out on a date. _

"You can't just ask something like that so casually!" she burst out, overwhelmed with embarrassment. "We've only known each other for…for _days, _and…we won't be able to eat anywhere but here! As a colony, I am not allowed to leave this territory. So do you even know where we're going to eat?"

"Oh." Alfred's confident smile faltered like a school child's who forgot an important assignment, but then he laughed at his own thoughtlessness. "Haven't thought about that yet."

Vietnam was positive her blushing face was actually heating up the air. "Th-this is just so sudden," she said apologetically. "I do not think I can acce—"

"Oh, come now, Vietnam!" interrupted Ho Chi Minh. "You visit China often, don't you? How rude of you to turn down this nice American! Unless there is something between you and Wang Yao?" he asked suggestively.

America's eyes widened, and the girl almost stamped her foot in protest. "No—_no_! There is _nothing _like that with China and I! He's the only country nearby that can help me, and of course it's easy to just sneak across the border unnoticed. My discussions with him are _strictly_ war-related."

America chuckled in relief and ran his fingers through his hair. "If it's really so uncomfortable for you, the dinner can just be friendly," he suggested. "Doesn't have to be a date."

The two men looked at her expectantly. Vietnam blinked in thought, and then started to nod. She definitely was not ready for a _date_. She had just met the American; the last thing she wanted was for someone she hardly knew to have some sort of claim on her.

"A friendly dinner," Vietnam repeated. "I'd like that."

Alfred grinned widely. "Great! You can choose a good place to chow! I'll meet you at your house tomorrow evening."

* * *

Alfred jogged up to Vietnam's front door and knocked loudly on the wood. His sandy hair was freshly washed, and he had taken the time to pick out a spotless white button-down and clean pants. He smiled as he heard a soft "coming!" from inside the house. He felt confident and ready, but he did hope that he didn't overdress…

The door opened, and it felt as if his brain liquidized on the spot.

It was like one of those fairy tales England used to tell him, when overnight the peasant girl became the equal of a beautiful princess. Vietnam wore a violet, loose, silk gown that brushed the floor, with wide sleeves and fancy embroidering. For once, her dark hair hung loose around her shoulders. "Hello, America," she greeted. He could only stare. A lovely blush passed over Vietnam's cheeks, and her honey eyes flicked away from his. "Um. I apologize for making you wait, but I did not tie back my hair yet…"

"Keep it. You look great." Vietnam's eyes darted back to America, surprised, and she hastily nodded.

"Yes. Okay. Vichy and Japan aren't here tonight, so we'll be able to take a trip into the city."

"Sounds good!"

Clutching a small purse, Vietnam led America from the house, her elegant dress making it seem like she was gliding across the path.

The truth was, Vietnam hated dressing up like this. Wearing anything fancy made her very self-conscious and, anyway, the pajama-like clothes she wore on the fields were so versatile and comfortable. Even her wealthy citizens wore them. She had given up trying to look pretty long ago. _It's too hard, _Vietnam had mused, while walking up the stairs earlier that day. She had given herself little time to prepare for the dinner on purpose, so she wouldn't waste energy fretting about such trivial, superficial things. _The way I dress, it's really a wonder why America would think of asking me out in the first place. But anyway—_she walked into her bedroom—_this is just a dinner._

"Ah, there you are, Vietnam!" Ho Chi Minh had been waiting at Vietnam's desk, and he sprang up from the chair. "So, are you ready for your _date_?"

An exasperated groan. "Uncle, for the last time, it's not a date!"

The old man _tsk_ed at her appearance. "Vietnam, do you plan to dine with a world superpower like _this_? Well, that's why I'm here. Several seamstresses and I have picked out something for you to wear. Look!"

Vietnam's gaze fell upon the long dress spread out on her bed, and she practically threw a fit. "No!" she protested, actually taking a step back from it. "I will not wear that!"

"Why not?" exclaimed Minh.

"Just look at it!" she cried, pointing at the gleaming purple silk. "It's too formal for a _dinner_."

"You'll look nice!"

"Exactly the point. America and I are having a _friendly discussion_—not a date! I understand that his help during the war would be beyond value. But I'm not going to seduce him for it!"

Ho Chi Minh regarded her with a solemn silence. "No," he said, much quieter. "No, I wouldn't ask that of you. Not after what you've been through."

He took her hand and squeezed it, as if passing some strength onto his nation, and the steel in the girl's expression crumbled, and her eyes softened with something vulnerable. After taking a measured breath, Vietnam said, "Thank you, Uncle."

The man sighed and smoothed back graying hair. "You are not the only one tonight who will try to attain help for the Viet Minh. While you and America are talking, I'll be taking a quick trip across the border to ask for more help from China. America would be an irreplaceable ally, so it would be good for you to try to befriend him as closely as you can. I doubt the Chinese will be delighted to see me. I'm asking you to take a risk also. I ask you to wear the dress."

"How would that even help?"

"Because America is smitten with you. That always helps."

"Uncle, shut up!"

"Also," he added nonchalantly, "you think he's handsome, don't you?"

Kim snatched up the weapon of her choice (a pillow) and repeatedly smacked the man in the arm, retreating him out of the room. "You—will—shut—your—mouth!" she cried in a shriller voice than usual between hits. During all this, she was grinning and trying not to laugh.

"What is this, mutiny?" Ho Chi Minh laughed before he was shoved out of the doorway. "Will you wear the dress?"

"I will, but only because you want me to."

"Excellent! Vietnam, try to have a good time. It's a true shame for a girl like you to be so solitary."

* * *

And so the two nations arrived at the busy streets of Hanoi, where they sat at an outdoor restaurant table. The place was nothing fancy, but the phở was tasty, which was all Vietnam considered necessary. She asked a server for two bowls of it, and then the two countries sat there awkwardly.

"Cool town!" America complimented.

"Ah, thank you, but it's a city," Vietnam corrected.

"Oh. Yeah."

_Befriend him as closely as possible. _Vietnam didn't know how. She didn't know how to start the conversation, or even if she was supposed to. All she knew was that she was very nervous, but of course she didn't show it.

America, in contrast, seemed completely relaxed. "So," he began casually, "did you want to talk about your liberation league? The Viet Minh?"

"Oh, yes!" _Of course this is how I'm supposed to start the discussion; it's the whole reason I'm here! _Vietnam scolded herself mentally. "Hm, well the Viet Minh is not the only independence group I have, but so far it's the most effective. I suppose it's because there's such close attention to minorities. Nearly everyone's represented…and like I had said, the Viet Minh has smaller groups within it. Associations. They're run by villages, each with a committee. The committee's democratically voted for."

"Democracy! That's great!"

"Ho Chi Minh himself is communist. But one does not have to believe in communism to be a member."

With a shrug, America said, "Hardly makes a difference, then."

"We found a base on Vietnamese soil not too long ago. It's nice. It feels less like being babysitted by China that way. There is a training base that prepares forty fighters every ten days."

"Every _ten _days?"

"Oh. Well it's only guerilla tactics," she said, embarrassed. "Some sabotage, some intelligence-gathering…" Vietnam stared into her bowl, frowning. Here she was, in front of one of the greatest fighters of the world, and she was talking about pissing off Frenchmen. "This must sound…barbaric to you."

Alfred laughed boldly in response. "Barbaric? Haha! Viet, I was doing the same sort of thing when I was getting my own independence. I didn't know _squat_ about formal battle, and I was fighting against the most experienced, ruthless jerk you could find—but I still won, didn't I?

"In fact, your leader Ho Chi Minh reminds me of someone who was leading _me _back in the day. His name was George Washington. He became my president after the Revolution, too. He was like a father to me," America said, wistfully.

"I call Nguyen 'Uncle Ho,'" said Vietnam with fondness.

" 'S that so? That's really similar!"

Two warm bowls of noodle soup were set down in front of the two. Vietnam dipped a ladle into the bowl and raised it again with a steaming spoonful. "It's called _phở_," she explained to America. He took a few tentative sips, and his face lit up.

"This is delicious!"

Alfred was relieved she didn't comment on him talking with his mouth full. And while they ate, he also noticed how Vietnam slurped up her noodles. Amazing. And she seemed to think nothing of it!

Swallowing the last of his soup, Alfred continued. "Washington always wanted me to stay out of other countries' affairs. That's why I kept out of the Great War for so long, and maybe why I wasn't here sooner. I know he wanted me to be neutral for my own good, but I feel ready to get…_involved_ now. To help the world out. I mean, I'm really a part of this war now, aren't I?"

Vietnam smiled wryly. "If you're discussing strategy with a small colony that grows rice, then yes, I would say you are _quite _involved."

America laughed. The conversation started to feel comfortable, less forced. America rested his forearms on the small table and leaned in slightly towards Kim. He told her more about Washington, and of a man named Lincoln, too. He talked about the First World War, his contagious sickness not so long ago, and the president who was helping him feel better—and also of the dangerous war to come. Occasionally, Vietnam would provide input, but she mostly listened to America tell more and more about himself than she ever expected to learn. And then he stopped talking, noticing that the streets were solely lantern-lit. It had grown quite dark during the conversation, and pinpricks of starlight twinkled in the black sky. "Damn, we've been talking for a while!" His eyes rested on her, and he added, "You're pretty cool, Viet."

She looked puzzled. "Thank you…though you are the one who has been telling all these interesting things about yourself." Kim looked up at the stars. "Do you…have these dates often?"

The American raised an eyebrow. "Now this is interesting," he remarked with a smirk. "I thought _you_ were the one who said this wasn't a date."

"No. I mean—it's not! This isn't a date!" At her fervent protest, America couldn't help but laugh. Vietnam huffed. "I _meant, _do you usually have these kinds of conversations? With countries you want to ally with?"

"It's not just me. It's something most countries do. But for me, nah, I don't have them _that_ often." America rubbed the back of his neck in thought. "Though they're becoming more common. They're not usually dates, either," he added. "Sometimes I just have civil conversations, _just like this one – _it really depends on how good-looking I think the person is."

"What?" asked America with a grin, when Vietnam rolled her eyes. "You should take that as a compliment!"

"Oh, shut it," she dismissed with a grin.

"So how about you?"

"Me?"

"Do you go on dates with other countries?"

She shifted a bit. "No. No, dating is not in my culture. And colonies hardly get an opportunity for something like that."

America gave her a look. "Are you sure about that?"

"What? Of course I am."

"I can read the atmosphere when I want to, Viet. You sound a bit unsure, that's all I'm saying."

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"I'd rather use the term 'holding something back.' "

Vietnam stared steadily into her lap, and it was a long time before she spoke. "There is one nation I had a date with. It was France," she admitted, looking back up at the shocked American. "I didn't know it was a date at first, not understanding romantic Western ways, but he was so…_sentimental_ when he first arrived. His words were like a poem. I got distracted by his talk of Christianity and his sweet nothings. He tricked me. By the time I realized that he was too involved – that he was _dangerous_ – he took control completely."

"Wait," said America. "Control of the government, or…your feelings?"

"The government," she quickly affirmed. "I realized he did not truly care for me. He wanted resources and power – nothing more."

"But…he had your feelings at one point, didn't he?"

The girl refused to meet his eyes. "I don't see why it would matter. I do not love him; that is certain. What matters is I want to be on my own now."

"Look, Vietnam. It's all right to say that some part of you still cares for this guy. Some of your people might even support the French. You may not agree with them completely, but they are your civilians, so they still make up who you are. And what you think reflects in their opinions, too."

Vietnam looked at him now, and her honey eyes were filled with confusion. "Why are you telling me this? I want to be free. I will have to fight him. And then you go and tell me _this_. Why?"

" 'Cuz I know what it's like to fight against someone you care about, at least a little." America sighed, and smoothed back hair from his forehead. "England was my brother," he stated plainly. "I had my doubts during the Revolution. It's not easy, but…you gotta stick with what you want the most, y'know?"

Vietnam listened intently, surprised at his insight. Then her jaw tightened, and she gave a single, firm nod. "Yes. France has helped me prosper. But I _will _be independent."

America stared at the determined, headstrong girl across from him. "Yeah," he said. "I hope I can help you with that. I mean if that guy would allow you to get _this—_" Without thinking, his hand raised and gingerly touched the scar on her cheek. Vietnam's eyes widened...she wondered if it would be too rude to pull away…

"Vietnam!" At the voice, the two instantly broke from their gaze to look at a messenger running towards them.

"What is it…" Vietnam asked, as the runner arrived. Alfred's hand was still hovering in the air where her cheek was.

"Tonight, when Ho Chi Minh crossed the border, Chinese nationalists arrested him. I am sorry," the messenger said. "Ho Chi Minh is in jail, and the Viet Minh has been driven underground."

The last thing Vietnam remembers from that night is Alfred grabbing her frozen form by the shoulders and shaking her, asking her if she was all right.

* * *

The next few days were like a blurry watercolor. Vietnam spoke little and ate less. Her days consisted of working grimly on the field, coming home to pass something through her lips, and then curling up on her bed to sleep for more hours than she should. There were no invigorating Viet Minh meetings to look forward to. Her Uncle was gone.

And then one day, her eyes cracked open sleepily when she felt something soft brush her cheek. Something was very close to her face...a blue pair of bespectacled eyes...

"What are you _doing?_" she screamed at America, sitting up quickly and throwing her blanket off. He stumbled back and fell on his butt in shock. "Did you think it would all right to take advantage of me while I'm asleep!? Like I wouldn't mind!?"

America raised his palms. "Woah, there, Vietnam! I wouldn't want to move _that_ fast!" He showed her the wet cloth he had been holding. "I was trying to treat your cut," he said matter-of-factly, tapping his cheekbone just in case she didn't know what he was talking about. "You haven't been taking care of it since…since Ho left, and it was starting to look a bit unhealthy."

Vietnam took the cloth and swabbed at the scar. "You could have just reminded me," she said with annoyance. "But thank you," she added softly. She blinked away the depressed haze that had been following her ever since the arrest. "How long was I…?"

"A few days, now."

"And you've been here the whole time I was like this? I'm sorry," Vietnam said.

"Nah, I've been going in and out. I just wanted to see you today...'cause I'll be leaving to fight Japan for a good while. I also have Africa and Europe to help out. So the next time I'll see you…" America could only shrug.

"Oh." Admittedly, Vietnam was disappointed. The dinner with him was certainly going to be one of her better nights, if Ho Chi Minh's misfortune hadn't fell. But she understood his duties. "Best wishes. All of that work must be tiring."

"Well, not yet. I'm excited to get in the thick of it all," America smiled. "You know, about Ho. He's a smart guy. He knew something like this might happen to him. Because of that, the Viet Minh is still running."

"Yes," said Vietnam flatly. "In secret, and with no foreign help." She sighed and pulled her hair into a ponytail. "But you're right. There's no use in dawdling. I _must _get busy with my independence again."

"That's the spirit! Well, I'll see you sometime soon…" America started to walk out of the room, and then he walked right back in.

"Did you actually think I was going to kiss you while you were asleep, or something like that?"

"I'm sorry," Vietnam said regretfully. "It appeared so at the time…I wasn't quite sure _what _to think…"

America rubbed the back of his neck. "Look…about you and I becoming allies. It's gonna be tougher than I thought. But I do want to help! And if something does work out…I hope that you can trust me."

"But I do—"

"I don't care what you say, Viet. You've been taken advantage of by powerful countries again and again. You don't trust them, and I'm one of them—only, I actually care about you." Alfred reddened, then smiled like a dork. Vietnam wasn't sure how to react when America said something like this. It was very sweet, of course, but she was sure that she didn't like him in that way...quite sure. "So, uh. Yeah. Do you trust me?"

Vietnam pressed the wet cloth to her cheek and nodded. "Yes. I do."

**Historical Notes**

One thing I would like to emphasize: Vietnam was _not _wearing an Ao Dai during this chapter, and probably never will in this fic. The tight-fitting Ao Dai was actually quite different in the ol' days. Much looser. Yes, in the 20th century they started to modernize, but in World War Two they went out of fashion. There was probably a shortage of supplies. The Ao Dai made a comeback during the Vietnam War, and it was mostly worn in the South. It was always more popular in the South. Today, of course, the gorgeous dress is a national uniform and can even be a school uniform. Anyway, I just didn't feel right saying that she wore an Ao Dai (even though I really really wanted her to) so she wore something more traditional, though that is probably not the most accurate either. I do try!

France and Vietnam. Personally, I don't ship it, but I do acknowledge it. I acknowledge the fact that perhaps Vietnam maybe-possibly-kinda had a crush on him. She did, after all, absorb a lot of the French culture. Note how her language has an Western-ish alphabet instead of symbols like her previous ruler, China. France arrived in Vietnam as early as the 17th century, introducing Catholicism and actually helping Vietnam regain lands. By the 19th century, though, he was very involved in her affairs, and she finally realized he was a threat. In 1887 France took over Vietnam.

During World War Two, China was actually split between communism and nationalism. Because of Ho Chi Minh's belief in communism, nationalists arrested him. Luckily, the Viet Minh itself survived, but where or where would it get help now?

**A/N:**

**Crappy ending is CRAP. I apologize sincerely. **

**Of course when I want to update my fic "early," my computer decides to crash, so I am disappointed that I couldn't present this sooner. Anyway, even if you don't trick or treat, or celebrate the holiday at all, I wish you all a good Halloween. I'm probably going to trick or treat until I'm 30. I mean..._free candy! _**

**I think I would like to spend some time editing the previous chapters. Nothing major should change, of course.**

**~Thank you for the _lovely_ reviews~**


	6. Don't get too excited

Hello, dear followers - I can practically hear the groans of disappointment at the realization that this isn't a new chapter at all, and, trust me, I know the feeling well. Usually I hate these kinds of things, but it felt criminal to just keep you hanging and hanging without giving some idea about what I'm planning to do. So move that cursor off of the x-out button, this'll only take a moment.

I used to get really, _really_ anxious about updating chapters. This only made my writer's block worse and, I believe, decreased the quality of the fic. I realized that this project became a source of stress. Plus, it's unfair for you guys to have to wait so long between chapters and still not receive my best work. So, I made a decision.

Now don't get worried! I'll be _damned _if I don't finish this fic. This is a headcanon that I've been crafting for a long time, so it's impossible to give up. I don't think you quite understand how much these two mean to me- America and Vietnam, that is. **_They. Are. My. OTP._** I'll just leave it at that; I don't want to freak anyone out.

ANYWAY~ I've decided that I won't update the fic until I finish writing the whole thing. Till the very last period is typed! This may take a while, but I will work my hardest. Once I finish, updates may be coming as fast as once a week (imagine that!). I think the writing would be a whole lot better, too!

I'd like to say thank you to the reviews and follows. They really make me smile. So, if anyone actually is disappointed by this announcement, here are two things you can do during The Wait...

Firstly, I made some edits to the previous chapters. You can read it over if you have a lot of freetime, I guess. The biggest change is that instead of a collar, Viet has a little metal bracelet now. Having an arm band instead of a collar was my initial idea, but i couldn't find any historical reference so I decided not to use it, but now I am whipping out my shiny creative license and putting the bracelet idea back in play. orz.

Also, if you want a laugh, just copy and paste the url of this fic into something called gizoogle dot net. Prepare to behold holiness. (Okay, the gizoogle thing was half the reason I made this stupid not-chapter, I just think it's really hilarious okay).

That's all I really have to say.

Well, continue to be awesome!

**~mysterywings**


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